Please Don’t Call Me...

Bwana. (Apologies to Bob Hope’s 1963 Classic).

In 2015, I signed up to hike the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. Then the entourage was thirteen other guests, three guides and twenty-two porters who performed most of the sweat labor. Read all about these Uber Athletes below. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.pe/2016/02/the-most-impressive-thing_6.html

It was a great, beautiful and wonderful meander through Mountain Passes, ancient Inca ruins and rain forests. 

In some ways getting to Machu Picchu was anticlimactic. I enjoyed the hike more than the finish line. (I thought MP would be larger.) 

Before leaving Peru, I already decided to return to hike the Salkantay route to Machu Picchu. It’s famous for being a prettier amble with 15;200”Salkantay Pass being the literal highlight. I wanted to experience being this up-in-the-air without an airplane. 

So I signed up again with Valencia Travel. I tossed out some dates, paid my $$$$ and received a nice looking itinerary. I booked my flights after they assured me I was good to go. 

Since that time, I have been emailing Valencia to get more info. (I ask a lot of questions because I wonder too). One question was, “How many other Gringoes will be joining me?” 

Their answer, “So far there is you and Ms. Alyson. However more people can sign up before your departure.”

Well, since that time Ms. Alyson bailed out. (Did anyone of you tell her I was hard get along with?) 

So...it’ll be me, one Guide, one cook, an assistant cook and two horsemen. I’m assuming they will bring their horses too. That’s five Peruvian and two beasts of burden to take care of one Jewish Gringo. That’s nuts! Hence the title of this blog.

All but the guide will speak Quechua, the indigenous language of the people residing near the Andes. For them Spanish is a second language. My guide will speak English. I hope he’s prepared for an onslaught of questions from me. I’ll use this experience as a full-on immersion of Inca, Peruvian and Cusco potential knowledge. I like learning. 

So...after a Red-eye flight from Miami to Cusco, I’ve been strolling around the plazas, crowded streets and surrounding hillsides. This is what I’ve noticed and learned.

Cusco was once the Capital of the ancient Inca Empire. All paths, rudimentary roads led to and from Cusco. I’ve included a photo of the size of this historic civilization. It was HUGE!

Now Cusco is the epicenter of Peruvian Tourism. In recent figures, two million tourists sucked hard on the thin air while walking its narrow streets and lanes. Most visitors have aspirations (and lots of inhalations) to visit Machu Picchu. I’m one of them.

Tourism is now the new “Inca Gold.” For many locals learning English is their ticket out of poverty. This morning, I took my coffee outside of my nice hotel. A bellhop named Jonathan followed me out. We struck up an English-only conversation. He was practicing his language skills on me. This polite young man went on to tell me he once was a porter on Machu Picchu treks. He made enough money to go to University. What does he aspire to become? A Machu Picchu Trekking Guide. This career path is a game changer in Cusco. It’s steady work and steady income. 

The other thing I’ve learned while walking around here. By and large the Locals aren’t very, well, large. I’ll give you a frame of reference. If the Cuscoans were going to start a basketball team, I’d be asked to be the intimidating shot-blocking Center. Having the chance to look down at peoples faces is kind of a pleasant change for me.

Well, I know you are all BUSY with the Holidays.

So, I’ll blog to you on the other side of the Salkantay Trek.

Feliz Navidad to all my Christian friends, 

Salud!

Jeff

I fear I’m losing...

my Mojo for this Wandering lifestyle. 

After my most recent trip to Europe, http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/11/would-you-ever-move-to-europe.html. I’ve been feeling B.B. King Bluesy. I’m worried that the Thrill is Gone. 

With barely a break in the action, I had to come up with a feasible game plan for my upcoming South America trip. 

In a few weeks, I’ll be traveling to Peru to do another trekking route to Machu Picchu. Then a National Geographic (read crazy pricey) ten day guided tour to the Galápagos Islands. Seven of those days will be spent on a boat. (I get seasick looking at a glass of water). 

When all this planning began, I was thinking I’d stay in Ecuador for a month. That was very ambitious with my present mindset. Currently, I don’t have it in me to figure out the how, when and where. I’ve had too many visions of asking for a table for one, getting on buses where my seat mates might be a chicken or worse a pickpocket, or spending too much time alone again in a country where English is a second or third language. I’ll be returning to the US right after seeing Darwin’s Islands. 

Am I running out of gas? Yes, in many ways I am. I’m getting tired of being my own travel agent and going it alone. 

It’s a couples world. I would love to have someone to share the misery of delayed flights, rental car ripoffs, eating lost in translation meals and the joy of going around a roundabout four times until you figure out which exit to take. I need more input than what I’m providing for myself.

Remember the origin of the word travel comes from travail for unpleasant work or torment or labor. It’s not always Joy!Joy! Happy!Happy! out there. 

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not nauseatingly terrible either. It would be beyond swell to share the hike to get there views, the quiet campfires, the chillin’ with a book moments, the coffee in hand sunrises or the IPA in koozie sunsets with a like-minded woman. 

I hinted at all the above in a blog not so long ago. http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/11/one-is-loneliest-number.html

On my recent visit to my old hometown of Fort Collins, Colorado I even glanced at Real Estate listings. Is it time for me to settle down?

I don’t know. 

After South America, I’ll return to the United States of Dark Ages, I’ll hang in Florida with my brother and sister-in-law. Eventually, I’ll go on a road trip in the Sunshine State. Then back to the Southwest to begin another three month lap in Barley the Van. In that yearly quarter, I think I’ll figure out whether I’m going through the motions of Wandering and Wondering or am I still Living the Dream. 

Maybe I just need a recharge.

Many decades ago, I took a winter vacation to check out Guadalupe National Park in Texas. When I pulled into a Trailhead parking lot, I noticed an older gentleman sitting in the doorway of his Winnebago RV. His head was cupped in his hands. When I returned from my four-hour hike, he hadn’t moved. He was lonely. He wasn’t a Happy Camper. 

I don’t want this scene to repeat itself with me.

I’m hoping for the best of outcomes,

Jeff 

PS. I’ll be in Scottsdale, AZ until December 18th. Of course, I’ll be shopping! NOT! 

“Would you ever move to Europe?”

was the question Hans and Sonja asked me during a Happy Hour conversation. 

Between sips of adult beverages, we were exchanging stories and information about our respective countries: Nederland, Finland and the US. 

I thought about the question for a moment. “No. I need more space than what I’m seeing in Europe. I would miss America’s National Parks, Wilderness Areas and Monuments.” 

With that said, here’s  the stats for comparative shopping analysis. There’s  743 million Europeans. There’s 323 million Yanks. Europe is slightly larger than the US as far as landmass goes. There’s a lot of humans milling around here. Europeans notion of personal space is a lot tinier than mine. 

Later on when we parted ways, I thought about this question some more. Below are multiple reasons why I don’t think I’m a good fit for Europe. (To my European buddies, the facts are correct according to Google. As usual, I’ll embellish this yarn. Please don’t start WW III over this blog. Unfortunately, America has a President with an itchy nuclear trigger finger)

I would have to take up smoking. Nearly twice the number of Europeans smoke compared to Americans. (29% to 15%.) Yet, most Europeans live longer than Americans. 

I would have to up my caffeine allotment. Europeans swill endless dainty cups of espresso/day and night. On a world wide basis, the US comes in 16th in Java consumption. 

I would have to grow a hipster beard and start sporting a Boy Bun hairdo. (No stats on the next few reasons). 

I would have to wear a scarf regardless of the weather or the season. 

I would have to relearn how to eat. A European will clutch their knife at all times. They poke, plod and shovel food around with it. A sort of multi use tool. Americans only use a knife as a cutting instrument or to butter bread. Most of the time, a knife is in stand-by mode. 

I would have to wear garments that are not quite long enough to be pants but too long to be shorts. 

I would have to shift my daily schedule by becoming a creature of the night. No more early to bed early to rise. I would have to-“Sigh!” - burn daylight by sleeping in. 

I would have to learn lots of languages. The Swiss people use four languages in a country the size of Vermont and New Hampshire combined. English is already a second language to me the way I get tongue tied at times.

I would have to give up my trail runners and flip flops. I would have to purchase real leather shoes! I have not owned a pair since the late 80’s. I would have to start dressing age accordingly. 

Here’s the toughest thing I would have to change. I would have to slow down. No one has ever said, “Faster than a European Nano-Second.” The Europeans don’t move all that fast. (Except when they are driving!) I say Americans move at the speed of money. That’s fast. 

All in all, I just couldn’t make all these paradigm shifts to become a true European. I barely fit the standards of being a typical or normal American. To quote Eddy Vedder of Pearl Jam fame, “I changed by not changing at all.” 

Alas, I’ve been this way for a long time. It’s my comfort zone. 

I’ll be Stateside soon. However, I shall return to Europe next summer and fall. Like I’ve said so often in this blog. It’s cool being in Europe!

Cheers from beautiful, rugged Madeira on my 63rd birthday. 

Jeff